Direction

(Verse 1)

The key turns. The tumblers groan. The front door swings inside.

The silence of the house rushes in to fill the space where I hide.

I lean against the wood, feel the cold seep through my coat.

Another day is done, just a lump stuck in my throat.

The motion-sensor light in the hall flicks on, stark and bright...

I wait in the shadow for it to give up the fight.

It clicks off.

Darkness is a blanket. Heavy. Worn.

(Verse 2)

My shoes feel like lead blocks as I move toward a chair.

The shape of the furniture, hanging in the air.

The day’s mask finally peels away, it leaves my skin feeling raw.

Just a collection of anxieties, and failures, and flaws.

The quiet in here has a weight you can feel, a pressure on the ears.

It’s the sound of all the things I’ve been avoiding for all these years.

The phone in my pocket stays silent. Stays heavy.

(Verse 3)

There’s a high-pitched hum behind my eyes, a constant, nagging static.

A tangled knot of deadlines and goodbyes and problems in the attic.

Every small decision feels like calculus and sand.

A simple question is a threat I don’t think I can withstand.

I think about the kitchen, the cold water from the tap.

But the distance is a mile, and my energy has snapped.

I just sit.

And listen to the hum.

(Verse 4)

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the black TV screen.

A stranger’s silhouette, a ghost in this machine.

He looks tired. He looks hollowed out. He looks like he’s about to break.

For a second, I feel sorry for him, for his own sorry sake.

This whole life feels like a movie that I walked into too late.

Trying to understand the plot, and cursing at my fate.

Just running.

Always running in place.